Search for a Path
by Narya's Bane
Summary: I am something else, something different, yet what that is I may never know. I shall never be more than I am now: a supplicant to the stewards of Gondor.
1. Part One

I'm not sure what this is. I'm not even all that sure I really wanted to post it- just a sort of interesting, spontaneous piece that fell out of my hands and begged for its proper place.  
  
This is the beginning piece of the Amara tales, the stories telling of Amara of Gondor which I have been writing. She is an unlikely character, yet has found a place on my computer screen and within my mind.  
  
Disclaimer: I own nothing but my tickets to Trilogy Tuesday, and by now I have likely given those to the nice man at the ticket counter. But as I make no money, I see no harm in my writing; please inform me if you see otherwise. Thank You- Narya's Bane  
  
"I am the sacred fire, and I shall not be wielded at will! You have journeyed through much, Mithrandir- - now try to journey through my world of thorns, briars, and snow."  
  
!*!*!*!*!*!*!* ~*~*~*~*~*~*~* **!~~~!**  
  
It has nothing to do with the way I am. It doesn't even have to do with the world around me. It just- is, I suppose. And nothing is going to change it until I find it in my heart to force that change.  
  
But I don't know how. I'm just Mari, right? I'm nothing but a simple peasant girl, raised in a peasant house on peasant land. And I'll never be anything else. It doesn't matter what company I keep, and it doesn't matter how I spend my free time. Nothing will change my fate from this: I am nothing, nobody, nill. I shall live out my days on this humble farm, obeying my parents in spite of the fact that we know I am not their daughter.  
  
I am something else, something different, yet what that is I shall never know. I sit here in the gardens of Gondor, land of my birth, tempting that part of my fate- learning it beyond a doubt. I shall never be more than I am now: a supplicant to the stewards of Gondor.  
  
"Amara!"  
  
My head turns, meeting the smiling face of a boy seemingly only a little younger than myself- though the true gap is wider than he might ever know. He runs to my side, gathering me in a hug once assured no other is near, and he kisses my cheek.  
  
"Mir," I whisper, smiling, into his ear. "Good to see you, my dearest friend."  
  
My dearest friend indeed. He is the steward's son, heir to all we see unless some miracle should occur within our lifetime. His arms around my shoulders remind me of the past, mingled slightly with the future as his strong build hints. Merely a youth, barely out of his awkward years, and already a trained soldier! Oh how I envied Boromir, the eldest son! How I sat by and watched, and let him near my side, and wondered at his abilities. How I wondered if I could do the same. . . Well, mayhaps I could. After all, father had allowed me to study the sword for a time, with his humble tutelage. I hungered for a real teacher, someone to help me with the art of the sword. Yet now, with Boromir here at my side, is hardly the best time to be considering what sort of armory I wished to study.  
  
"I have been waiting long for you, Amara; had you forgotten today?"  
  
My mind searches for some meaning in what he has revealed to me, fluttering by for some hidden message to tell me what is so important about today. Then, with a sudden whimper, I must cry out. "The Dunedain wanders near our gates today, bearing a message for me! I had quite forgotten!" And with that, I begin to sprint across the gardens with all the strength in my still-vibrant being.  
  
"Amara!"  
  
I turned to see Boromir slowly huffing behind me, trying to catch my speed. Yet he was already laden with the armory of his office, and not set to chase a spry, giddy female across the whole of Minas Tirith. I chuckled at his inability, finding his seeming reluctance to let me go forward as odd.  
  
In short time I reached the gate, just in time for the odd northman to see me as I dashed before him. I curtseyed in the right manner, bowing my head before him and his steed. I heard the panting Boromir fall in behind me, and lifted my head to see a grin on the face of the man before me.  
  
"Not often in these parts is such a fair maid presented to me dressed as you are, my lady."  
  
Only then did I remember my manner of dress, blushing fervently as Boromir put an arm to my shoulder. "I have a friend among the Rohirrim, sir," I tried to explain, taking my friend's hand as comfort. Obviously he had noted my lack of discretion, and sought to chase me down before I presented myself in the loose peasant blouse and long pants barely covered by a skirt- cloth. Here, it was not considered normal dress for a fine lady- or even a farmer's daughter, though in Rohan it was a fairly common style for the ladies who mounted nearly as often as their male kin.  
  
"I recognized the style as such," the stranger commented. "It seems out of the far country, the make of Thealyn the Dark?"  
  
I bowed my head again to this one's great wisdom. "That is truth," I replied, a genuine smile taking over that which I had first greeted him with. "She has been a friend of mine for years, though I know no reason for her support. I am called Amara, sir; I presume you are the one who is to bear news to me?"  
  
A pause, as Boromir let his protective hand fall. Quietly, I turned to my companion and hugged him firmly- much to his chagrin, as the public murmured. I heard the clearing of a throat from the nearby wall, and turned to see the steward, Lord Denethor, staring at me. "You are out of place young lady, to treat my son thus," he warned, glaring for once at his oldest son.  
  
"She may not be, or so it shall be deemed once I tell of her history. Know she is not what she seems, Lord Denethor!" With a further smile, he continued, "All that is gold does not glitter."  
  
"And not all who wander are lost." My mother, or she who had treated me thus, came from a nearby stall at that time. "You are not the same man of the north who came to me in ages past."  
  
"Man? He was hardly a man, dear woman. But all shall be revealed in time. I have but barely arrived!"  
  
"My home," I immediately replied, "is yours for as long as you wish. Take your ease there if it suits you, sir."  
  
Denethor made as if to protest, but the man laid up his hand and nodded at my offer. "I should be honored to be a guest, humble though your surroundings are. I have known many worse, in my time, and shall know them again."  
  
This mysterious stranger was dangerous; I felt it from the start. Yet with leave I had him follow to our simple home at the edge of town, just where the land became good and wholesome for the start of the craft of growing. We were the farming family closest to town, the first to market with the most numerable goods; a living it was, though not a great one. Once, they said, this family had been greatly renowned in Gondor- Minas Tirith in particular; yet those days were gone, and our members now went with dirt on their shoes and no jewels save a few family heirlooms which were solely antiques. Yet it was said in the days of kings these had been the most loyal servants of the realm below the family of Stewards. I for one wondered, though I knew I was not part of this house, what kind of rumors those were.  
  
Once the strange visitor had had a rest and a bite to eat, I deemed it time indeed for his business.  
  
"Northman," I started, "I know from whence you and your people came: the line of Numenor, if such a thing does indeed still exist. I have heard also that you bring a message of import from me, for that is what the travelers who were sent ahead of you have indeed warned. Now I ask what your race, your errand, has to do with a woman of Minas Tirith once orphaned and now watched for by a family of farmers as she is too poor to get herself a husband."  
  
A chuckle from his throat. "I give no name for myself, for all the names I go by would mean naught to you here. Yet you are correct in what I am, and that my business is with you. Yet I must now ask why it is you have no thought as to my agenda, when you might have great understanding if you but admitted your own age!"  
  
At that, my cheeks flushed a true crimson as I set myself on a chair at the table beside him. "A woman does not reveal her age, sir, and certainly that includes this one!"  
  
"Amara, those you call your parents- how old are they?"  
  
Again a crimson flush. "Nearing- no, I dare not say."  
  
"Amara," he tried again, "Miri, as the name is muttered in elven tongue- can you deny that you look extremely well preserved for your age?"  
  
With that I let the redness fail. "You know," I chuckled. "Of course you know. I have kept it hidden from them so long- I would have remained in hiding even longer, if I'd been able. Yes, I don't deserve to look like I do: since my twentieth birthday, all those decades ago, I have not aged a wit!"  
  
Another chuckle from the cloaked man. "You are nearing the truth. Do you know your true age?"  
  
I shook my head, allowing a moment of silence as he finished a well deserved apple.  
  
"Your foster parents were newlyweds, just out of their twenties when Gandalf the Grey brought you here." He took a swig of ale, continuing, "Your mother was afraid to prevail too much upon Elrond's hospitality, and therefore sent you here upon your birth. She had not expected the pregnancy, fearing a daughter of kings would not be as well preserved as her son within that fair house. And here you have hidden since then for some sixty years, aging never more than if you were twenty-five!"  
  
"How is that possible?" I asked, stunned. I could remember no more than forty years, to be sure! "Sixty- me, sixty!"  
  
"Sixty-one, actually; as for possible- anything may be possible, until the blood of Numenor is spent. I expect you shall have a long life ahead of you if you keep in fair surroundings such as this." At that, I had little more to argue. I could hear in his voice that he spoke the truth, horrifically telling as it seemed. And in my breast, that which is my heart sank fully into place as I tried to grasp for how I felt about this revelation.  
  
"I did not expect to hear such tidings as you bring," I sighed, reaching for his mug and taking a large sip of his ale. He simply chuckled, watching my lips purse together and the top of my eye twitch. "It is much to discover you are beyond your seasons."  
  
"Yours are to be long years, and great," he explained. "It is strong lineage that proceeds you, and fair habits which you inherit. Yet they are not for Minas Tirith- it is not yet in your blood. I am here at your brother's request. . ."  
  
"My brother?" I halted again, once more finding my head swimming. "I have a brother?"  
  
"Indeed. Did you not know?"  
  
"I did not," I admitted.  
  
"He seemed very sure of your existence," demanded the gentle northman. "Estel was very careful to tell us all about you- from your name, to a description down to the very last bit of hair."  
  
I halted, biting my lip as I remembered. "Yes, he would know." When I closed my eyes, it came back- a split second in an upstairs room, looking at pictures of old rulers of this land. My mother, then a young woman, turning to a page. The painted picture that met my eyes: a pure image.  
  
And indeed I did now resemble that picture in my mind all too closely, and in my heart I heard a whisper like that of a dove. A soft side of my heart- a new life waiting to begin.  
  
"I remember," I told the man sitting next to me quietly. "I can begin to see what is behind."  
  
"It hardly equals what is ahead, fair maiden. Would you now join me on a journey to Edoras, where your brother stands to help Theoden-king welcome his new sister-daughter?"  
  
In my mind, I debated a moment. I had been waiting. . .  
  
"Faramir!" I cried, looking to the door at the boy entering. He was quite young, and the scrape along his cheek made him seem even smaller than his few years gave him. Yet he scurried in, embarrassed to be here yet apparently with nowhere else to go. "Faramir," I repeated, taking to boy onto my lap with a gentle hush. "Faramir, what's wrong?"  
  
"Father," he whispered in a hoarse voice, trying to shed no tears. I looked up at the ranger from the north, who met my gaze meaningfully with much sorrow. And I took the child to my room, where he had stayed many nights against his father's knowledge, and set him to bed. In the morning, I felt, Boromir would come to my door and collect the child- as usual.  
  
Which reminded me all to much of the truth. . .  
  
---------- ---------- ---------- ----------  
  
The first time I had met Boromir. I had been on the road, many years ago, face covered and skirt blending like many a poor man's maiden daughter in Minas Tirith. I was looking over some goods needed by my mother, tending to what the aging woman wished for her trouble- now I bent low over the booth of tomatoes.  
  
And in that moment I found myself propelled into the booth by a bump from behind, followed by the merry laughter of a young boy. I crashed into the owner of the produce stall, livid and covered in the red juice. Then I turned to yell at my assailant. . .  
  
To look into the sweetest pair of eyes mine had ever met. His fair hair also caught my attention as it hung in well-cared for locks. He still laughed, but that expression soon left his face as the next figure came into sigh: Denethor, Steward of Gondor.  
  
"Boromir," he chastised lightly. "What have I told you about running off? What have you done this time?"  
  
"He did nothing, my lord," the keeper assured. "This woman fell into my display. . ."  
  
"I pushed her in accident, father," the boy assured, telling the truth authoritatively- even, to a point, challenging any of us to say otherwise.  
  
"He did," I had said, still keeping my eyes on the boy, "but it is no trouble. I can. . ."  
  
But before I could finish, Lord Denethor had tossed a handful of coins to the shopkeeper. "That ought to be enough to cover the damage," he assured, "and of course my son shall stay to help the lady and yourself clean up.  
  
I nodded, pulling myself to the feet and my eyes from the child to the governing body of our land. "You are great and wise," I assured, bowing.  
  
The child followed me to the shopkeeper's side, and together we picked up what remained of the tomatoes. I next started on my way home to switch into a new dress, yet paused when I felt eyes watching me. I turned to see the young boy, regarding me with fear and hopefulness.  
  
"Please, miss," he began politely. "I do not wish to return to my father. . ."  
  
"Why not, young Boromir?" I had inquired, feeling it was a ruse only to follow one around to taunt them.  
  
"I am afraid," he said, stalling just enough to become believable. "He'll hurt me for what I've done."  
  
I looked at him. "He hurts you when you do something wrong?" I asked slowly, wondering at the great lord reprimanding his own children rather than spoiling them.  
  
"I don't want to be slammed against the door again," he replied. It was then, I think, that I realized these were not just reprimands or warning slaps- Denethor went above the average father, beating his young son as much as the youth could handle it. I had no idea then how horrific the truth was, and how often he knocked his sons into unconsciousness, not letting their mother pick them up lest she too have that fate. Still, I allowed the boy to follow me into my home; when he told me more of what his father did, I asked him to come there whenever he wished.  
  
I saw him nearly every night until his brother grew to a worthy age. Boromir brought the younger child over the first few times, and since then. . .  
  
---------- ---------- ---------- -- --------  
  
Since then, I have seen at least one of them each week. I tucked Faramir in, assuring him all would be well. Yet for all my thoughts, I could not be sure of that fact. Still, such things were not for Amara, the Farmer's Fosterling.  
  
I turned back to my esteemed visitor, again questioning. "Why now does my brother send for me, after so many years?"  
  
"He has only now ascertained your whereabouts for one," I was answered, "but also because now was the appointed time. It is time, he believes, to make himself known to you- who he already cares about."  
  
"Who is this Estel?" I sighed. "Who is he to command me, and send one of a forgotten race to fetch me?"  
  
"That is not for me to tell," he quickly answered. "That answer must come with time, Amara dear. For now, are you content to come with me to Meduseld?"  
  
A pause, and a shiver. "I must say farewell to my dear friend, when he comes to retrieve this young one. But yes, I shall follow." 


	2. Part Two

I was awoken by a familiar voice calling my name, blinked my eyes open to see Boromir standing there, Faramir nearby. They looked quite similar, though the younger had more of the look indicative to his high lineage than his brother. Yet it was still the older to whom I gazed, and he looked back.  
  
"I'm sorry to wake you," he apologized, "but I wanted to thank you for once again allowing Faramir to spend the night. I was on duty and unable to see to his safety when a particularly fragile moment of peace was broken."  
  
The look in his eyes was all too indicative of the truth: Denethor had once again become incomprehensive, going up into the high tower and hiding; Faramir must have chanced to miss the light and remain home, being in his father's way when he finished the adoration. Boromir himself had little to fear these days, his very nature making him able to bear the ill will bestowed- and even to fight back when necessary. But Faramir, though no longer young, was more tender than that: the harshness would bear upon him. All others the young one could master at need, yet his own kin would not hear his cries. And only Boromir and I knew about the nightmares.  
  
"Your brother is as a brother to me as well," I replied. "I was only happy to take him into this house."  
  
It was all too familiar territory for the two of us. Boromir would now send his brother on the path home to his tutors, who would be waiting no longer than usual in spite of the long trip back home. Even as he did so, I set out the stone cups and set a pot of water on the stovetop to heat. Mother had been up early, and a fire was lit; doubtless she had noted Faramir's stay, as I could smell a sweet bread near the end of baking in the oven below which lent heat to the surface.  
  
"You will," I asked, "stay for a cup of tea as usual?"  
  
"If I am allowed," was the answer made. At a gesture from my hand, he took the seat at the table's head and sighed. "You are quite kind, to be ever here for us."  
  
"Where else would I be, my lord?"  
  
A chuckle, then the honest answer. "Seeking more suitable company than two restless children in need."  
  
"I have no desire to do so." I grabbed a towel, walking to his side and brushing some forgotten crumbs off the table. I turned to walk away, suddenly finding my hand trapped by his. The towel dropped to the floor, forgotten as he kicked his seat back and guided me in front of his eyes which I unintentionally met. Immediately, I was lost in the deep hazel- grey of his gaze with no real chance of rescue.  
  
"Amara," he murmured prettily. "Amara, my precious, do you never age? Still as pretty as always."  
  
I couldn't respond, finding all speech inadequate to the telling. He still had that same piercing stare, and I still got caught up in it. He was so young- yet already he had renown in his regiment. All were impressed by him- indeed, should Faramir pursue a career as a soldier he had already gotten shoes impossible to fill. And I so old- though to look, none would think me more than a handful of years older than this one in front of me. I had no answer. . .  
  
I was entranced, and I was in trouble.  
  
Then the kettle whistled, saving me from the danger of admitting I cared for him. Quickly, I filled the cups and checked the bread- perfectly brown, and ready to cut. I did so, offering a slice with some butter on it. Gratefully, he took it as I sat and joined him.  
  
"Smells good," a voice from elsewhere in my home mentioned, making me turn. I had not forgotten our visitor, and immediately served him the same fare as was set already. When all was finished, I nodded to the northman and stepped outside with Boromir.  
  
"I must go away for a while," I warned him. "Take care of Faramir?"  
  
"Don't I always?"  
  
I nodded. "There will be nowhere for him to go. . ."  
  
"Not quite true," Boromir confided. "He has enough years behind him to choose his path, and already he has declared his intent to join in the training program."  
  
"Is that not a dangerous path?" I countered, fear gripping my heart.  
  
"It is the same as mine," he replied. "I have managed, and my heart tells me he shall as well. I will protect him as much as I can, of course."  
  
"Of course," I murmured, wondering if mayhap the younger was safer than his elder brother. Then I shook it off. "Still, for you as well I will not be here."  
  
"I shall await your return," he assured. "I must go- only another hour before I must report."  
  
"Go, then!" I chuckled, waving him off. "No good for the Stewardson to be late for his duty!"  
  
As my best friend ran off into the distance without a look back, I sighed inwardly and looked into the eastern sky. A single white cloud bellowed, though the sky above the mountain remained ever-clear. I entered my home, wiping the hair from my eyes and deciding it was high time to freshen my clothing. There was much to do, and surely little time was left.  
  
I entered to a smiling ranger sitting at my table. "You like him, don't you?"  
  
I sighed in answer. "He is barely older than a boy!"  
  
"Such matches are not unheard of," I was informed, "and the match wouldn't be fully unwanted. But perhaps you are right for the moment- let him grow a bit first, and then see how desirable a man he has become. The younger, though, has a bit of the eldar left in him. Does he not?"  
  
"Quite," I replied, "but that is not a concern for the farmer's fosterling. I haven't a chance with either, as the steward would say."  
  
"We shall see. I must go into town, and gain what is needed for our journey; you, of course, will prepare what is needed from here and meet me on the road."  
  
"So courteous," I jested in mockery. "Why don't I just massage your shoulders while I'm at it!"  
  
"Miri. . ."  
  
"Amara," I corrected. "Just Amara."  
  
"Amara," he continued, "this is something I cannot do."  
  
"Who shall I ask for in the city, then, when I need you?"  
  
"Halbarad," came the answer. "Say you seek Halbarad, and they will guide you to me."  
  
Then he was gone, and I was left alone in the house. My father was gone into the field, my mother likely at his side, and I began to pull together a bit of equipment for travel. I changed first, picking a shirt of crème with a pants-skirt of sable. Along with me I brought only one other outfit, thinking it best to go lighter. I packed a few odds and ends of food as well, figuring most would be gained by the odd visitor. I thought this to be all when I turned to leave and found she who had raised me as her child before me.  
  
"You are leaving us today." It was not a question.  
  
"I have to discover this brother of mine for myself."  
  
She answered with a quiet tone. "Do you realize who it is you seek, and what he might do?"  
  
"I do not," I replied.  
  
"I will tell you little," she replied, sitting me down. "But to any claiming to be your brother himself, you must ask a question. Discover of him what his true name is; he whom you seek will answer Aragorn son of Arathorn. I know not what guise he may travel under to see to Theoden- king, yet if your kinsman he is than that shall be his reply."  
  
I wondered at this. "Arathorn? Aragorn. . . mother, what manner of folly is this? Such a lineage is not mine."  
  
"My darling," answered a deeper voice beyond: my father, "there is no other possibility. When the wizard Mithrandir came to us, guised as an old man in grey cloaks of no royal bearing, he called upon us in the name of the lord we once served. When the house of the good steward was held up, ours diminished: yet always had my forefathers served the high seat of Gondor. Upon the loss of that line, we swore an oath to serve truly no other. Thinking we would turn traitorous, the stewards abandoned us though we were of noble blood. Yet in the name of that vow, Mithrandir begged us to take in the king's daughter- nay, the toddler king's sister!- and care for her until she was sent for. This I have done with joy, for my own wife has given me no child, and I can think of none to give me greater joy than you have."  
  
"We have been your parents," my 'mother' continued. "We love you as a daughter, for your strength and compassion. Yet you are seemingly ageless, stuck as a young and beautiful woman, while we linger and age. We cannot keep up with you, or this land. The truth has been told as it must, for alas! We may not meet again on this earth once you go."  
  
With that, father moved to show his hands not empty. "I have trained you as best I can, and let it be known once our family was teacher to the king, to handle this." With that, he laid a sword into my hands. "Women of Gondor are not known for their skill with a blade, and I think neither the women of Numenor in these times. Yet once it was that women with long blood lines were able to protect the lands as surely as the men. Long has this blade been unused; take it now in faith. Mithrandir delivered it a few years after we received you, saying it has been the sword of justice, of feminine wiles, since long ago."  
  
I took the handle, leaving the blade uncovered as I inspected it. Then, ever so carefully, I began to loose the sheath and inspect some of the runes on the metal itself. They were elvish, as are most, and told a long and glorious history. That I understood them was a miracle of my parent's education- which I knew now had been passed down from family only, keeping them prepared to serve one who might never come. That tradition was handed to me surely as anything else. That in mind, I covered the blade fully and bowed my head to the two venerable gardeners before me.  
  
"This also was left for you, until the proper time." My mother took a ring from her pocket, placing it on the table before me. "For the female born of the house of kings only, said to mark and save them from peril should the king return. A charm, I deem it, though the nature of it is unknown to me."  
  
I looked at it, seeing the stars etched onto it filling my sight. Quite a pretty thing, to be sure, though its function eluded me. I set it on my finger, and then looked at the sword once again. My father nodded anxiously at me, then whispered, "It is time for you to take it." And then I took the weapon in my hands, bearing it with me to where the horses waited. Mine was a fairly young thing named Aldaron by my mother, brown all over except for a silver-white spot on the brow. She had only just been broken for riding, but I had little choice: my favorite, Tinaron, was to foal again and could not bear me to Rohan. I set the sword in place, covering it with a blanket, and mounted while reassuring the horse below me. I took my reigns, checking that the stranger's ride was tied well to follow, and began the short ride to the path outside of Minas Tirith.  
  
Halbarad was awaiting me, and immediately set upon his steed. "Interesting choice of colors," he commented quietly, then set ahead of me as we began the longer trek to Rohan. 


	3. The End

Amara was unused to the constant travel her companion seemed to thrive on, and so by the end of the first day she had no energy for aught but to slide down off her horse (no aide accepted) and set up a spot for camp. Halbarad started a small fire, and together they spent a quiet evening on the plains.  
  
Such a thing was repeated every night when they stopped for the day, with the result that no more than a dozen or so words passed between them as Amara and her guide made their way into Rohan. For this, Amara was mostly thankful as it allowed her time to think.  
  
The journey reminded her how she would like to check in on the lady of Rohan, Thealyn the Dark, and her young daughter Ealyn. Yet such was impossible at this time, regardless what good and understanding might come from such a journey. Instead, she trekked forward to the hall and the family of Eorl.  
  
Five days went by, and before the last night Amara saw before her the halls of Meduseld. Here her guide took to the side of the road and halted, looking ahead and shaking his head.  
  
"Now you must listen to me." The ranger spoke plainly, keeping calm and certain in his assurances, "Your brother is here in guise other than normal, and it will be difficult for you to recognize him even had you known him. Test him not before others, for his true identity must remain hidden. . ."  
  
"Until the appointed time," she finished. "Yes, I know. Just tell me what I must do."  
  
"The king celebrates his sister's daughter. Aragorn has returned as a friend of the crown, presenting himself as he once did long ago. Suspicions have mounted- it is in such a time that he has asked for your presence, Amara- sister to rangers."  
  
Amara gave a weak smile and nod, then saw in horror that her companion had turned the other way down the road. "You're coming with me, aren't you?"  
  
"You have enough experience, and more years behind you than are needed. The journey required one beside you- for this, however, I leave you to your own devices. I can do no more in my delivery of my captain's sister."  
  
With that, he vanished with great speed that suggested haste in continuing a previous path. Amara sighed, then continued on to the doors of the city.  
  
The city was crowded, full of revelers toasting the birth of the king's sister-daughter. Amara kept the hood of her cloak up, concealing her features and hair until the proper time. Of her light brown hair nothing was visible except a few strands that turned golden in the light of this place. None seemed to notice this woman who did not fit in and held herself apart from the crowd as though searching for someone in the bunch.  
  
Yet at least one did. She felt a hand drop on her shoulder, strong yet gently guiding rather than forceful. The owner drew her first into a corner, than lightly turned her and pushed the hood from her face. "Amara, I presume?"  
  
She could do nothing more but nod, yet simply looking at the gentleman revealed everything. He was taller than she, and his eyes much darker and calmer than hers; weathered from years, he seemed quite a bit older than she- yet still nothing like the years which were truly his count. Little fairness exuded from him now, but given a bath he would shine in the manner of all kings. Gold which did not glitter, he was. One who wandered, yet knew where he was and to where he must someday go.  
  
"Brother. So good to see you well."  
  
"Likewise. Shall we catch up in private?"  
  
No hesitation resulted from that question. Instead, Amara followed where the other led until they had exited the city itself and entered a small tavern-like establishment on the other side of the celebrating. It was fairly crowded, but the corners were darkened and the tables fairly clean. Two siblings, though neither with blonde hair, hardly were noticed in the place. In fact, many here seemed to be outsiders- many from Gondor, by the look; for the first time, Amara saw just how out of place she must seem at times even in her own home, since she fit few of the norms for her people.  
  
"I suppose you know why I have asked you here by now," the man claiming to be her brother asked quietly.  
  
"I do," was Amara's answer. "Yet I ask you to prove your identity to me."  
  
"How?"  
  
"Confide in me your real name, which has been told to me by those who raised me. Only then will I be sure you are my brother." And that this entire adventure has been more than a ruse to me, for there has been little to assure me that I do not dream.  
  
The name was given casually, in an attempt to assure no others heard it. Amara found it matched her knowledge perfectly, and she was forced to admit that this fairy story seemed indeed to have come true. In return for his name, Aragorn demanded to be shown the ring given her- though his eyes told him that Amara was his sister. The band proved it, and he explained its true purpose to the bearer and gave her leave to remove it should she ever find need or wish to do so. And Amara's heart leapt for joy with all she heard from this odd traveler hardly three years her senior yet much wiser than she ever hoped to be.  
  
Then they began to tell of their lives, and Amara felt a great yearning to join in the escapades she heard tell of. She heard in his voice longing for a normal life, yet Amara had a great wish to see the world he knew of. Instantly, her mind drifted to the sword and the words given when she accepted it.  
  
"Amara," she finally heard, "there is more reason to my asking for you than you know. I wish to bring you out of Minas Tirith- I wish for you to come into the north and be one of the strong women that wait on our land and people."  
  
"A babysitter?" Amara asked.  
  
"Not quite in that manner," Aragorn assured. "They are learned in many things, in much lore and history which might aide you. . ."  
  
The response was a dwarfish curse little heard. "I won't go with you for simplicity. That I know from my parents. I wish to see more, but I do not need to be coddled- or treated as one who can coddle others."  
  
With that, she rose and set a few coins on the table before him. "Thank you, my brother. I hope to see you someday, but I cannot take this offer as it stands."  
  
"If you wish to change your mind, simply step outside your gates."  
  
And Amara left in anger, yet also wonder and thought. Five hours she had spent with this man, and knew in her heart that he was of her own blood as surely as she knew others had gotten hold of her will.  
  
She took a night at the inn, incognito under the name Miri, and slept the night. Next morning, she arose and started on the way home to Minas Tirith.  
  
Yet home was not the same as she wished it. Amara became more easily frustrated at small things, such as the refusal of bread to rise faster or knives to chop quicker. Her parents had let her return, yet seemed surprised to see her and became more cutting with their questions: as though summoning her to gain courage and leave the place.  
  
Boromir alone seemed to understand the woman once she was back. She had retreated into the library of books as was her wont, and when possible he dragged her from the dusty volumes into the light of a city's day or to the stars in a clear night. And they became nearly inseparable, sharing secrets and wishes.  
  
Amara told him of her brother, and he let her cry on his shoulder. And Boromir it was who picked up training her with the sword where her father had finished, and it was over the blade that they truly began to deepen their relationship. Faramir often watched, shouting out advice to either or both parties, and his knowledge was gaining much indeed in that regard. Sometimes Faramir would even be allowed to challenge, and then there was an interesting lesson that followed.  
  
But it was from Faramir, the younger of the two, that Amara learned the art of archery. Unfortunately, she had little range, yet it brought a strange joy and satisfaction to her to string the bow and let arrows fly. So the year passed, with the three constantly in each other's company or hidden in dark recesses. Amara gained much of the wisdom of ages, and had she known it her ability to sink into cultures now rivaled her brother Aragorn's. A fair glimmer entered her eyes, so that there was a star of intelligence within each- still, she aged little to none.  
  
Her foster-father died that year, and her mother lost the ability to manage their farm. Amara pleaded with Boromir, who in turn pleaded with his father, and finally a small home was found for the older lady inside the city where she would be safe and have little to do for earning of keep. Amara herself gained what she needed through instruction of Faramir, pretending to teach when indeed they simply talked over ancient lore. She became all that remained of his formal education outside those who trained him for the path ahead. Boromir often thanked her, for with the knowledge she carried now and looked up they were able to analyze and eventually dispel many of the dreams which plagued his brother.  
  
And now that they were in each other's company, there were few times when the dreams came and he was alone.  
  
It was an interesting trio, and many remarked it. Denethor directly questioned what was bringing them together, and soon Amara found it necessary to confide in him her lineage: with it, her mother was given higher standing, and his sons leave to associate with her at will.  
  
"I don't know what may come of it," Denethor once said, "but if the line is unbroken and she of it, why not let the daughter of our line of kings entertain the sons of a steward?"  
  
It soon became obvious he wished her to fall for one of the boys, and since he figured Boromir was as a brother to her in Faramir he laid his hopes. The three had few ideas to the contrary- yet they had none to his aide either.  
  
Yet it was the older who Amara found herself looking at in times of quiet, and his smile she reveled in. Even as Faramir proved himself and became the more recognized of the brothers, she delighted in the one she first saw and allowed to steal her concentration.  
  
In a secret spot they would meet, Amara usually engaged in reading some new volume while Boromir played at trying to gain her attention. Always he eventually won, tossing the book far and finding a conversation behind it. Always, just the two of them: into this spot, a simple hidden room beneath the staircase, Faramir seldom went unless it was to be alone. It became the new place to hide from Denethor.  
  
Yet one day, Amara found her restlessness too much. She went into that room and left a simple note, then slid to her mother's home and woke the aging lady. They hugged and cried before Amara left, a week's worth of provisions with her and a few pieces of spare coin in her pocket.  
  
She took Aldaron, as Tindomerel had perished giving birth to her last. Tindome, she was called, and her black coat had only a few scattered hairs of purest white; one day, Amara promised herself, she would return and break her in for riding.  
  
Yet that was in the future. For now, she would do as her heart bid: a path which led her to the north and Aragorn.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
They say that once you make a choice and allow fate to take its path, the past becomes insignificant and much of it disappears before your very consciousness. So it was with me this time, as the second part of my life passed away and I strayed into a new territory. I remembered once more the earliest years of my life outside of childhood, and of the section I had completed I knew little besides the facts- no emotion behind that which I knew besides an ache for something I could not describe. I recalled no detail of my actions with Boromir and Faramir, though simple hours before I had been able to remember clearly every instant of my life.  
  
I knew who the two were, and recalled their ages and doings, yet had no opinion of them as individuals suddenly. I was on the road, away from that life and unlikely to seek the ways back into its walls. If Denethor had other plans, he would have to find a way to call me back himself.  
  
I spent the first full day alone traveling northward half-blind, going only on an intuition I now remembered could never fail me. After that one day, I unwrapped the tied skirt from my waist to allow my black pants to take the majority of the wear and threw the single piece of cloth over my shoulders as though it were a shawl. It was warm and comforting, and so I wore it while I traveled the second day.  
  
That day, around noontime based on the position of the sun on its weary path, a traveler hailed me along my path. Since few traveled that far, I was unsure; further inspection showed that it was a female, dressed quite in the same manner as I, who pulled up beside me and greeted with an elvish phrase of welcome that included my name: Miri. Surprised, I lapsed into elvish myself to answer to wish her a good day.  
  
"And to you," the woman assured. "I am Ninive- first of a new breed of woman our captain hopes to send in earnest. I was sent to recruit you- I assume you had already begun your way to us in the north?"  
  
"I had," I admitted. "What breed is this, that wears the gear of men freely and without disguise?"  
  
"Numenorian soldiers."  
  
The answer thrilled me, sent a tingle right through me. I looked at the ring on my finger, half expecting to see the stars light up to show my delight; luckily, that was something which did not happen. So I was able to follow her the rest of the way, our speech as exciting to me in a way as the news she bore. We began first in the language of westron, yet continually slid from tongue to tongue as certain things seemed to fit better in a different language- or as the happenings we spoke of changed location. And so the company I kept on my way to the north seemed more amiable than any other I had experienced.  
  
So I found myself in the land of many names, in the base of operations held by these wandering rangers. For even they needed a place to call home, a spot which was prepared and where they could let their wives bear children and keep the homes in peace. Caretakers all, or so it had been I deemed from Ninive, Yet now some of the younger women, those under eighty, were given a choice: to do as they had always done, or to join the men. Few indeed had accepted this offer, and therefore I found myself entering to a society that shared my look, and likely much of my personality, yet who sneered at me as I rode in without a skirt.  
  
We stalled before going to our final destination, cleaning much of the dust of travel from ourselves and tying skirts on in order to greet my brother. I went before him, and told him of my intentions- which were joyously met with exuberance.  
  
"Rest while you wish," he offered, "in the presence of my own home. And when you wish to depart, take with you what you need. Ninive, who has been your companion, can teach you well what you may lack for this path you have chosen."  
  
I bowed my head, receiving a similar motion in return as we were true relations, and took my leave then.  
  
A week I stayed there, learning what I must of foraging and testing what I knew of the other. I also was taught to find my way through a strange land I had known only in dream and blood, until I should be able to find my way through any wilderness.  
  
The next five years are a blur of interesting happenings, new experiences and battles and places. Sometimes I was alone, and at other times I traveled with my brother or one of the women of our people. A single time I traveled with the wizard Gandalf, or Mithrandir, and went into the spot in the world called the Shire. There I met one who would become my best friend: the perian Mihalia Purwater, a genuine Fallohide in the Shire if ever Gandalf had shown me one. Where other hobbits had dark and curly hair, hers was a fair auburn, and many of her features were elven. Not even the wizard would explain to me, saying only that it was not his secret to tell even were he willing. Yet she had a grace and wisdom that rivaled that of any of her homeland except perhaps for her teacher Bilbo Baggins, and then only because of the practical use he once had. But that is a full other story, how my friendship with such a person came to its fullness. Yet I will mention that in those years and afterward I visited her constantly for reasons I did not know, and we were fast friends.  
  
With my brother I developed a relationship of tolerance and need: we would tolerate each other when we became lonely, but being solitary and aloof by nature neither of us really felt ourselves good company for the other. More often than not it was only when we chanced back at the same time we met up, and then we would travel a way together before breaking even more assuredly than before.  
  
But in the fullness of time I realized that this existence, while graced by the Valar for my true path, was insufficient. A longing remained in my heart, and remained there until a night came when holding it secret became impossible.  
  
I was practicing the sword, hoping to improve on my brother, going through a few simple rhythms with the blade. Once I sped up my pace, however, memory began working overtime. A face on the other side, catching me off guard. An emotional response which followed, and an instant of full wanting- of desire I knew the other could not yet feel.  
  
By then, it had been almost ten years since I had begun. I knew not if Boromir would remember me, or even care if he did, but I felt a great wish to see him. Without a word, I saddled a borrowed horse and went on my way home.  
  
My return had been long awaited, I found, and my mother's home kept for me in spite of her death. The first to greet me, to my surprise, was a youthful soldier who seemed in high regard by those around him- well on his way to becoming a captain. I didn't recognize him, even when he ran to my side and embraced me. It wasn't until he pulled away that, with a laugh, I realized.  
  
"Faramir?"  
  
"Is it that hard to fathom?"  
  
We talked a moment as I set my belongings in their place and led the horse to the back where a sight greeted me I hadn't expected.  
  
"Tindome?"  
  
"No," Faramir admitted, "but of her line. Also called Tindome- as have all the mares with that coloration. There have been several."  
  
I nodded, amazed at the similarity. "Has this one been broken yet?" I asked, realizing it to be just about the right age. And after all, I needed one of my own- and Tindome was mine, as she had belonged to my household.  
  
"I have begun the process," he told me, "but she will bear only Boromir and myself."  
  
"We'll see about that," I replied, immediately taking the guide line and leading Tindome from the stable. She hesitated, but a single line of elvish brought her to calm as she followed my lead. Moments later, she was allowing me to mount- and then she showed me some of the power she had in aquick run.  
  
"She is a great animal," I commended Faramir.  
  
"That she is," I heard from behind him. It was a familiar voice, and one I had wished to hear for long. Then the owner of it stepped into sight and considered the view for a moment. "But surely this isn't Amara! She is unable to age, but you seem to have years keeping up with you."  
  
I looked at him, cocking my head youthfully. The years had treated him well, giving him bulk while keeping him handsome. Faramir might be fair in the manner of elves, but on Boromir the features had settled to be not as obviously handsome yet quite a bit more charming. More cushy- more loveable.  
  
And I did love him.  
  
We three talked as we once did, though the conversation was much changed, and eventually it became near time to prepare for dining. I was invited to join them, an invitation I readily accepted. Boromir whispered into my ear that he wished to meet me in our former secret space, and I nodded that he might know I would be there.  
  
Then I changed into a dress of blue, in a style I had worn when in their company as a lady before. I only barely remembered an acceptable style for my hair, choosing to let it hang in well-brushed flows with a bun pulling the front half from my eyes and closing at the top of my head. Then I set about to meeting Boromir as asked, wondering how much I should reveal to him.  
  
I settled in a stone seat that was carved in our hideaway, leaning as I read a book one of the boys- nay, men- had left there: an old favorite fairytale, of Rohirric persuasion, dealing with their earliest history. I was reading it when the door opened and I heard a muffled cry that told me Faramir, not Boromir, had been here and left the volume. "Still reading, I see," Boromir commented when he had ducked enough not to bump his head again. I made no immediate response, then looked over the top. He had settled his nose on the cover to exert just enough pressure so it bent, and I was forced to look into those eyes- still deep as ever, now with traces of his trials within them. He had seen fighting, knew what war was like, and had taken control when necessary to order the annihilation of other living beings. And he was looked up to.  
  
"You know me," I said, laying the book on my lap. "Always reading." Boromir took my folded hands in his, as though warming them; then he smiled and asked me to tell him of what I had seen.  
  
We talked some, and my relations of the land to the north enthralled him, as did talk of my brother Aragorn. When I had finished, and his comments were finished, we began on the way out. One thing led to another, and we kissed.  
  
I returned to Minas Tirith constantly after that, appearing there as often as in my brother's house. I never told him of Boromir except to say I was in love with a man of Gondor- a lord of high esteem, younger than I but of a good bloodline. So I was allowed to go back, none knowing- indeed, few outside the city ever suspecting that it was for Boromir I went home.  
  
The day Boromir and I told his father Denethor of our intentions to marry, we were greeted by unexpected glee. It was then, I felt, that Faramir's worth dropped so low in his father's eyes- for that young one had little but great knowledge and will in him, and now Boromir was to be steward and guard- and perhaps the father of one who could claim the throne itself.  
  
I have yet no ring, no bond between Boromir and myself. That will come with time, as must all things. I have not been back since the night Boromir and I announced we would marry- leaving the next morning had been necessary, and with only the two boys to see me off all was quiet when I did so. That was almost a year ago. . .  
  
My heart greatly desires to return.  
  
But first I must answer a summons from Rohan, then turn my steed- another Tindome, the offspring of a previous Tindome and a new Aldaron- toward Gondor and Minas Tirith. I must call on an old friend, one who would fit into my lifestyle nicely. Ealyn was always up for an adventure, and her I must see before I continue to the great city. I hope she's ready.  
  
Then I will go to Minas Tirith, for I hear that they will soon be sending troops to aide Faramir in Osgiliath before it is wholly over-run. And then, afterwards, maybe I can send notice that this part of my life is coming to an end. I would dearly love to settle down when this war finishes, when the darkness of Sauron is at last and finally utterly dissipated by the starlight of Varda. Perhaps a family and that grandson Denethor so dearly wants. Not to take over and rule, but one to serve his uncle and bring about a new generation in which all of Gondor will be united under one king and banner by those who love him.  
  
Not likely.  
  
But a sister, a lover, a fighter, can dream- can't she? 


End file.
